


The End (is never quite the end)

by Ptolemia



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-26
Updated: 2015-02-26
Packaged: 2018-03-15 08:27:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,102
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3440360
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ptolemia/pseuds/Ptolemia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After Corypheus is defeated, Solas disappears into the night. Cole tries to offer Lavellan some comfort, and she tries to offer him some advice on hats.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The End (is never quite the end)

“There’s a tangle up somewhere in your head, but you wish they wouldn’t tread all around you like you’re a sheet of glass with a hairline crack along the side.”  
Oona almost jumps, but restrains herself. She’s getting good at staying still when Cole appears behind her. “Evening,” she grunts, and stays put where she is, elbows on the balcony, chin in her hands.  
“Yes,” says Cole, “Almost night.”  
She smiles.  
“And you’re not sad, and they want you to be. No, wait, that can’t be right. Why would they want you to be sad?”  
“Ah, people like a good story.”  
“Are good stories sad?”  
She shrugs, “Sure, some of them. People want to make life into stories, though, that’s the problem. Varric especially. Catch him looking at me sometimes, like he’s got it all planned out. The victory made bitter-sweet by losing…” she sniffs, haughtily. “Anyway. Pile of crap. I told him that as well - you’re full of clichéd nonsense, I said. He took it as a compliment too, the smug git. Mind you, Leliana’s not much better. Sending people all over searching for folk who’ve most likely got better things to be doing than avoid her lot. I told her to leave it be. It’ll work itself out.”  
Cole tilts his head. “They don’t want you to be sad. I can tell. They want to make you happy.”  
“Sure, maybe.”  
His head tilts over ever further, and his hat begins to slide sideways, slowly at first but gaining momentum. Oona catches the brim and settles it back in place. She shakes her head at him. “We need to get you a better hat, young man.”  
“I like this hat.”  
“Doesn’t stop you from having another hat too. Like I always say – two hats is better than one.”  
“You’re doing it again. The tangle. Words over words over thoughts over thoughts so I can’t catch the trail of the one I was after.” He pauses, and pats her elbow, very stiffly and solemnly. “I can help.”  
Oona sighs, yawns, and takes one last look at the sunset before turning away from the balcony and toward Cole. “Everyone trying to help is half the problem.”  
“But Solas-”  
“Has his own things to deal with, as far as I can tell.”  
“But you-”  
She nudges Cole’s hat up gently, and clasps his hand in hers. “I’m fond of him. And maybe that’ll… look, I don’t pretend to know what he’s thinking. That’s your thing, anyway, knowing what’s in people’s minds. I’m not even going to try working it out right now. But if I need to find him, I’ve a very good idea where to look. Alright?”  
“He’s fond of you, too” says Cole. Then he blinks, thoughtful. “You know.”  
Oona grins, one side of her mouth quirking upward, a slight glitter in her eyes. “I know.”

  
Cole taps the tips of his toes up and down a few times, humming quietly. “Varric is going to try to persuade Cullen to play Wicked Grace again tonight,” he says. “You would like to see that.”  
“Wouldn’t miss it for the world,” she says, with a laugh that dances extremely close to being a cackle. “I’m still not sure what was best about last time – Josie’s face, or his.”  
They make their way down the staircase, Cole dragging his feet along the flagstones so that the tips of his boots make a soft scraping sound on the worn stone.  
“You like Wicked Grace because you like it when other people shuffle-stare, and when they can’t look you in the eye. Hands in lap shoulders hunched twitching and a tremble in the tendons of the palm so their hands flutter like a heartbeat. And it’s the eyes-down no questions that makes you smile. You’re powerful when they don’t see you.”  
“Cole, stop dragging your feet.”  
“That’s why you kept your face all red, when he offered to take the marks away. He didn’t understand, but you need them, need to match the eyes and the smile and the cape. Slight and pale and red eyes and the hand all a-glow and they don’t see you because they see that and they think they see or they watch your feet or their feet and they think they know but they don’t. All wrapped up behind it is you.”  
“Cole. Enough.”  
“You’re real behind it.”  
“Cole!”  
“I’m sorry.”  
“Oh?”  
He hesitates, and beneath the brim of his hat Oona thinks she sees a grin, just for a moment. Then it’s gone. “I’m sorry you like scaring people.”  
“I don’t like…” Oona sighs. “Look, it’s good craic, is all. Mess with a few Shems, watch them twitch. There’s no harm in it.”  
“Alright,” says Cole, suddenly sounding unusually frost.  
She glances at him. “Leave off with that stuff for a bit, alright?”  
“Alright.”  
“Are you… shit, Cole, did I upset you? I didn’t mean to-”  
“Alright.”  
“Oh, well, now you’re just doing it to wind me up.”  
He grins again. “… alright.”  
This time her laugh sounds less like a cackle, warmer somehow. “Look at you! Getting all smart and sarcastic on me. You’ve been spending too much time with Varric. That man is a terrible influence.”  
“It’s good to remember about being real.”  
Oona hesitates over that for a moment. “I… yeah, I bet it is.”  
“No, not just for me. For you. You’re not just a story-tale picture.”  
“Ok, definitely too much time around Varric,” says Oona, firmly. “He’s full of shit, I’m telling you.”  
“That’s what he said about you.”  
“I’m flattered. Now, come on, we’ve got a game of Wicked Grace to crash. And then,” she says, steering Cole over to the tavern with a spring in her step that wasn’t there before, “we’re gonna get you some new hats.”  
“But I don’t-”  
“Shh, new hats. No questions.”  
“But-”  
“Hats!”  
“But-”

  
The tavern door opens, and a blaze of light spills out into the evening air. Somewhere behind the castle walls, the sun has set, but neither Cole nor Oona pay it any heed. From inside there is a roar that swells up above the chatter and the laughter and the music, and then Varric has Oona by the hand and the Iron Bull is lifting Cole, clutching his hat, onto his shoulders, and judging by the way Sera and Dorian are shouting the game of Wicked Grace is already under way. And then the door swings shut behind them, and the light and the laughter and the sound of voices suddenly dim, and all that is left is the courtyard, sinking slowly into the darkness.


End file.
